


The Fires of the Sun Wolf

by Morbid_Hatter



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Abandonment, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eskel needs a hug, Jaskier is kind of a jerk at the beginning, M/M, Misunderstandings, Soft Eskel (The Witcher), but its there so be warned, they all talk about feelings, very brief mention of suicidal thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:27:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24350539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morbid_Hatter/pseuds/Morbid_Hatter
Summary: Jaskier learned much from his time with Geralt. Most of it was about monsters and dealing with monsters. It was all about survival, but there was one lesson he wished he hadn't learned quite so well - to protect his heart.After being burned by Geralt too many times, Jaskier builds walls around his heart to protect himself from ever being hurt again.The only thing this manages to do is destroy the one man who managed to worm his way into Jaskier's heart, past his defenses - and the only thing he manages to do is push him away.Can Jaskier fix what he broke? Can he save the relationship he ruined before it had a chance to grow and heal them both?
Relationships: Eskel/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 20
Kudos: 221





	The Fires of the Sun Wolf

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a mix between the game and the show along with a few of my own headcanons regarding characterization and certain details. I tried to keep the canonical timeline so this takes place totally after Rare Species but much of it takes place post season 1. 
> 
> This crawled into existence because Eskel needs more love, Jaskier didn't deserve all the shit Geralt threw at him - and I love angst. As long as it doesn't stay that way.

Jaskier didn’t realize how much he had learned in the years he had known Geralt. He had picked up things like foraging, basic alchemy, monster lore, and he could stitch a wound closed faster than anyone other than his friend Shani. All these things came from trotting along after Geralt of Rivia and trying to prove he was useful to keep around. 

He reasoned his singing, while Geralt didn’t appreciate the songs themselves nor the sound of his voice, his friend ( _ companion at most _ , his traitorous brain corrected) could appreciate the coin it raked in that supplemented their purses when contracts were sparse or the fight to collect the promised amount of coin just wasn’t worth it. 

In a way, he knew he was more of a nuisance than a real help, but he had thought that his skills were enough to make him a worthy companion after two decades.

Looking back, after being told in no uncertain terms to fuck off and spending a few seasons alone, he thought he could do it again. It had been a happy accident, really, running into another witcher. Eskel had called Geralt his brother - trained at the same school and roughly the same age - but they couldn’t have been more different. Yes, they both had the same unwavering belief in their mission to help rid the world of monsters (and despite the rumors that witchers didn’t have emotions, they both  _ felt _ so much), and of doing the right thing, they were as different as night and day. 

Where it was like trying to get blood from a stone to get Geralt to give him more than “Nest of Nekkers. Had to use Ogroid oil. Killed eight,” when he described a contract, Eskel seemed to understand Jaskier’s desire for detail - he found himself using far less poetic license when describing Eskel’s deeds (even if very few went into his songs, he learned his lesson, thank you very much). Eskel was even forthcoming with life at Kaer Morhen. Though he never gave any details about the Trials, he gleefully spilled stories about growing up with Geralt and the trouble they got into - especially after Jaskier had finally told him exactly how he knew so much about witchers and Geralt especially. 

While traveling with Eskel, he had taken all the hard-learned lessons and expanded them to make himself the perfect traveling companion - but not friend, he knew better now. Eskel had been eager to teach him anything that Jaskier asked. Now he was able to gather the exact ingredients needed for decoctions, potions, and oils; he could wield a sword with enough skill to defend himself (which was entirely different than the basic fencing lessons he had endured as a child); and, most importantly, how to stop asking too many questions, and talking too much, and singing too often. It wasn’t like Eskel had ever complained about his voice as Geralt had, but he also knew that Eskel was more polite than Geralt could ever hope to be.

Looking back, Jaskier figured that’s why it had been so easy to fall into bed with Eskel. One night over a bottle of Est Est they had begun complaining about how long it had been since they had last been with someone - Jaskier refused to admit how his heart lurched painfully when Eskel muttered about how hard it was to find someone to look past the scars on his face. 

It had been a way for Jaskier to bury his feelings of abandonment and inadequacy in a body as hot as fire. He knew Eskel was getting something similar out of it - or he had to assume, while he was much better than his brother at communicating, he did a very good impression of Geralt at times. 

What’s better though, was that after years of assuming he had been friends with Geralt, he never took something like that for granted again. He learned to communicate what he wanted and what he felt now. “It’s just sex,” he had said after they had collapsed in a sticky mess of shaking limbs. “Don’t worry, it doesn’t mean anything.” (“Y-yeah, just sex,” Eskel had mumbled in breathless agreement into Jaskier’s sweaty shoulder - so he knew they were on the same page). 

He and Geralt had never been lovers, not that he hadn’t wanted to, but he knew Geralt’s type and he wasn’t a witch with violet eyes. But, even knowing that hadn’t been enough to stop his traitorous heart from breaking when he saw Geralt and Yennefer very much alive and celebrating that fact in the ruins of the alderman’s house after the djinn. It was then that he had decided to try to build up a wall around his poor heart as he tried to heal it. 

On the mountainside, when they all thought they had lost Borch, Tea, and Vea, he had tried to peek out over the high stone walls and offer an out to Geralt - a way to leave the somber mountain and the frosty attitude Yennefer had been directing towards Geralt the entire trip - only to have Geralt spit out his true feelings the next day in a show of fury and pain and heartache. 

Twice bitten and Jaskier was smarter.

Now, he had walled up his heart tight - he had given so much of heart away to the last witcher he had dared to travel with and he wasn't going to make that mistake again. An impenetrable force was built strong a pair of soft amber cat eyes were no match for the absolute strength of the stone and mortar surrounding his barely healed heart. 

But Jaskier started to notice things. 

It was never big, grand things, but Jaskier noticed that they were very deliberately the things he had complained Geralt had never done.

Eskel would let his fingers linger against Jaskier’s skin as they lay panting next to each other. He would let Jaskier ride Scorpion more often than not. He made sure Jaskier was comfortable, full, and happy. He would sneak into a tavern to watch Jaskier sing when he finished a contract sooner than expected. He smiled that shy, self-conscious half-smile when Jaskier would sing bawdy jigs about randy fishmongers daughters. 

It had to stop.

He could feel it, something acidic and destructive working its way in-between the mortar of the stone wall guarding his heart. It left an oily feeling on his skin that no amount of scrubbing could ever seem to get rid of. It left his stomach rolling, his skin prickling, a scratch in his throat, and everything tasted like salt.

It was nearly winter, and they had only spoken of it briefly a few weeks ago. Eskel wanted to winter in Kaer Morhen with his brothers and had offered to have Jaskier follow him. “We don’t go back every year, if you’re worried about running into Geralt, he might not be there. And if he is, it’s a big keep, you don’t have to be around him if you don’t want to.” Jaskier had given a noncommittal answer that Eskel had accepted with a small frown but hadn’t brought it up again. 

With the time before the pass up to Kaer Morhen still open shrinking by the day, Jaskier knew he had to act soon. Better to get it over with so Eskel could get to the keep safely. No matter what, he wanted Eskel to be safe, even if that couldn’t be next to Jaskier any longer. 

Jaskier kept the letter he had sent off to Oxenfurt a secret, as he did to the reply. It was his only safety line to keep him from being completely adrift and he couldn’t say anything about it until the right time.

They were in Ard Carraigh, the perfect place to part ways. It was one of the largest cities in Kaedwen where he would be able to stock up on anything he would need to make his way to Oxenfurt to teach for the foreseeable future. He wasn’t running, he  _ wasn’t _ . He was leaving to protect himself and Eskel. 

He convinced Eskel that one night at an Inn would be nice. It hadn’t taken much, all he had to do was flutter his eyelashes and smile and Eskel gave in. “Whatever you want, Songbird.”

Jaskier was barely able to contain his flinch at the nickname. Yes, maybe he had accidentally started it by calling Eskel Sun Wolf once after finding out that he (to his knowledge) had been born on the Summer Solstice; but Eskel had taken the small nickname and ran with it, coming up with a never-ending list of bird-themed names. 

“Whatever I want?” Jaskier asked, keeping his voice pitched low so the rest of the tavern couldn’t hear their conversation. It would be a pity to be run out of town before he could end things in a comfortable setting as he planned. “What I want is to finish this surprisingly nice meal and then go up to our room and take a bath before we test your legendary witcher stamina." He was determined to enjoy their last night together, to give Eskel a good night to remember. 

A goodbye - even if Eskel wasn't aware of it yet.

\----

The meal and the bath were an indulgence Jaskier figured he would probably regret when he ran out of coin before he reached Oxenfurt, but he figured with all he had learned about surviving, he could gather his own food and maybe even lay a few snares before it got too cold and small game settled in their dens for the winter. 

He'd be fine to enjoy himself. It may be a while before he can find a brothel on his way home. And there was a disappointing lack of attractive people he could ethically bed that he knew of in Oxenfurt. He wanted a good night to think back on while he found someone else. 

Jaskier ignored the pang in his chest like iron bands wrapped around his middle, crushing against his heart and lungs. He ignored it by sliding in between Eskel's strong thighs and losing himself in the familiar rhythm.

After, he regretted the vigorous sex as he felt Eskel curl up around him. For such a mountain of a man, Eskel was surprisingly fond of cuddling. As a final parting gift, Jaskier figured he could indulge the witcher for once. The really regretful part came when he couldn't sleep and the acidic miasma trying to work it's way through stone walls as he replayed a pair of amber eyes blown so wide only a thin ring of color had been visible. 

He sighed heavily and worried that he was doing this too late, that Eskel was further gone than Jaskier previously thought. "Fuck," he whispered to the ceiling.

Jaskier wasn't sure he slept when he saw the first hint of sunrise through the window. He slowly,  _ slowly  _ crawled out of the loose grip of Eskel's arms and moved as silently as possible around the room to get dressed and make sure all his belongings were put away in his pack. 

All that he had to do was wait for Eskel to wake up. 

While he waited, he mused that it would be easier to just leave while Eskel slept, but he knew it would just cause problems if he wasn't completely clear about what he wanted. 

He watched the slow rise and fall of Eskel's chest from his perch on the only chair in the small room. When Eskel's eyes fluttered open, Jaskier felt that scratch in his throat when Eskel looked around the room before a sleepy, lopsided smile slowly stretched across Eskel’s face when his eyes found Jaskier in the grey dawn light. “Morning, my Little Lark,” Eskel rasped.

The scratch in his throat was accompanied by the taste of salt again. He gave Eskel the time to sit up and rub his eyes so that he could, once more, reinforce the walls around his heart. “It’s time to say ‘goodbye’, I think.”

Eskel hummed like he wanted Jaskier to elaborate, but by the subtle way his shoulders tensed and his slow breathing seemed to stop, Jaskier figured Eskel had an inkling of what he was talking about. 

When Eskel didn’t reply, Jaskier continued on, ignoring how the taste of salt now seemed to coat his entire mouth and the iron bands around his chest tightened even more. “You’re getting attached,” he continued as bluntly as possible. He knew it was going to hurt Eskel, so he wanted to do it as quickly as possible, to minimize the hurt as much as he could. “It was just sex, and you’re getting too attached.” He saw the flinch, the blaze of agony in warm amber eyes, but he plowed on, he had to get it all out - had to rid himself of the poison before it burned through all his carefully constructed walls. “I’m not here to fix you. I’m not here to love you.”

He stood up, unable to watch as Eskel threw up his own hasty walls, never needing them in Jaskier’s presence before. “No, I know that,” Eskel whispered, the right side of his face turned away like he did when he was feeling more self-conscious than usual. “I guess this is a good place to split up, i-it’s pretty close to Kaer Morhen, a-and you can get pretty much everywhere from here.” 

Jaskier shouldered his pack and picked up his lute. “Take care of yourself, witcher. And good luck on the Path.” He hurried out of the room to escape the crushing feeling that had encompassed them in the short time Jaskier had ended things between them; but he wasn’t fast enough to miss the quiet choked off gasp Eskel let slip.

\----

He was welcomed back to Oxenfurt with open arms and a job for as long as he wanted it. A poet and bard of his acclaim would always be welcomed in academia and especially his alma mater where he received a degree for all seven liberal arts. 

His students, bright young things with big aspirations, adore him and he lives for it. The attention is almost addicting. Yes, he misses traveling and seeing the continent, but he’s comfortable here and everyone loves him. He’s even trounced Valdo Marx in both a poetry contest and a ballad contest. His victories were sweet as summer wine, until he turned to share them with his friend ( _ companion, dammit. Not your friend, _ he forcefully reminded himself) and realized he was standing alone at awards ceremonies. 

Yes, he had Priscilla and Shani at the University to celebrate with, but there was something wrong. 

It was like he was still feeling the damage to the walls around his heart. He could still taste salt, no matter how often he tried to drink away the taste. He still couldn’t take a deep breath without feeling his chest constrict and cut his breath away too quickly. Eskel had dug his way too deeply too quickly and Jaskier hadn’t cut it out before the infection crept too far into his defenses. 

When he was alone, it was worse. Surrounded by his students or fellow professors, he had a distraction; but when he was alone, it all came flooding back in a tidal wave.

He took to writing it all down, and the more he wrote, the more he realized that maybe, just maybe, Eskel wasn’t the only one who broke their arrangement. When he closed his eyes, he saw warm amber eyes, broad shoulders, miles of naked tanned skin, and a small self-conscious smile. 

He was losing sleep to his memories. 

One night as he lost himself in the fire lit in his quarters, he realized he had learned a lot of things in the years he had known Geralt. He had learned many useful skills, but it seemed he had missed one lesson - a lesson he now regretted more than any.

He had learned how to kill.

Not literally. But he learned exactly what to say to inflict the most damage, to tear open someone’s heart and expose it just long enough to destroy it. 

And his aim was good enough to kill twice with one action.

Now his memories were turning into nightmares. Short but terrible nightmares where his unconscious mind would replay his final farewell to Eskel, always cut off with the soft gasp of pain he had fled to. 

He blamed his lack of sleep on not recognizing he wasn’t alone in his lecture hall until the person was directly in front of his desk where he was slumped down over a stack of poetry his students had written for their most recent assignment. “Geralt!” he half-shouted, startled, and surprised. “I, uh, I honestly didn’t think I’d ever see you again. What can I do for you?”

Geralt was attempting to be inconspicuous. Well, as much as a scowling man with white hair, cats’ eyes, and enough menace to attract all kinds of unwanted attention could be inconspicuous. “We need to have a chat, you and I.” 

“R-right,” he managed to stutter out as Geralt grabbed him by his upper arm and led him through the halls of the University until they stopped in front of Jaskier’s quarters. He wasn’t going to ask how Geralt knew where he was staying - it seemed obvious he had been hunted down. 

Geralt just stared at him while he unlocked the door and brushed past him once there was enough space for him to squeeze his massive shoulders through the doorway. They stood that way for an age; Geralt looking at the wall and Jaskier watching his back, waiting for Geralt to start.

The witcher whirled around and leveled Jaskier with a look filled with more anger than he had ever seen; but when he spoke his voice was level and calm. “Why did you do it, Jaskier?” 

“Do what, Geralt? You need to use your words,” Jaskier sassed. Just because it had been over a year since he had last seen Geralt, didn’t mean he was ready to forgive him for twenty years of poor behavior. 

“I don’t know what, exactly. I can’t get the whole story out of him. I came back to Kaer Morhen with Ciri after Sodden and it’s like I came back to a ghost.” 

Jaskier was impressed. So, so impressed. Not only had Geralt said more than a handful of words at once, but (and more importantly) he had accepted Destiny and found his way to his Child of Surprise. 

He laughed, void of humor. “Oh, now you notice. Now you notice when someone isn’t acting like themselves? Well, I guess it’s better late than never, isn’t it -”

“No, Jaskier. You don’t get to turn this back on us. You’ll probably never believe how sorry I am for that, how much I regret taking my anger out on you, but we’re not talking about you and I right now.”

Jaskier laughed again and wrapped his arms around his chest - because it was chilly despite the beginnings of spring letting the trees bud, not because he was holding himself together. “No, but we are, in a way. You hurt me so many times that I refused to let anyone close enough again. And Eskel tried, he got too godsdamned close and I couldn’t go through that again.” 

Geralt’s jaw dropped and he shook his head like he could change what he just heard if only he shook something loose. “So you broke my brother’s heart before he could, what? Break yours first?”

“Darling, my heart was already broken. I wouldn’t survive if it happened again.” His voice went monotone. He turned to his desk and opened the decanter of amber liquor that would ease the conversation, if only just a bit. “Your brother started wanting what I couldn’t give him. What I was too afraid to give him.”

“But-”

“Please, don’t interrupt me, Geralt. I’ll never be able to get this out again if you do.” Jaskier took a deep breath and finished his drink before he started speaking. “After the djinn I tried to protect my heart. I knew that there was no way I could compete with Yennefer, you were bound together and there was no way you’d ever feel the same. I was okay with that. We continued on our adventures, split up and got back together until the Mountain and Borch. I tried, one more time, to get you to just  _ see _ that I could just be there for you. I wanted to get you away to rest and recuperate. Instead, what did you do? You went and fucked Yennefer again and then left me alone. And that’s not including your vitriolic explosion  _ after _ the mess with the dragons. 

“I knew I could never survive anything like that again. But what did it matter? I’d never see you again, or so I thought. And I was alone for half a year before I ran into Eskel. And he was such a fucking breath of fresh air, of course I jumped at the chance to travel with him. But, and here’s the key point, Geralt: I learned a lot from you. But I learned the weight of my words, and I didn’t even know it until I used them to break the kindest man I have ever met.”

Jaskier sat down heavily on his desk, narrowly avoiding knocking his decanter down over his most recent composition. “So yes, anything you think you need to say to me, I’ve already told myself. I set out to keep myself safe and free from pain and did the opposite. But what does it matter? Just like you, I can apologize, but I can’t take it back. We’re more alike than you’d like to admit, darling.”

Geralt shook his head and took a slow step towards Jaskier, like he was approaching a wild animal. “Honestly? I don’t think it’s too late. Don’t laugh, it’s true.” Jaskier clamped his jaw shut to stop himself from laughing more. “You said it yourself, he’s the kindest man you’ve ever met. He’s always been like that. He was like this ray of sunshine when we were boys and it’s continued even after years of hateful words and stones and everything else that he’s had to suffer through. He can empathize with a lot and understands more, and most of all, he forgives.” Geralt gently took the glass from Jaskier’s shaking hand (and when had that started?). “Trust me. If he can forgive me for pushing away years of friendship after my extra Trials ‘for his own good’ then he can forgive you. I promise you, it’s not the end, Jaskier. Not unless you make it that way.” 

Jaskier released a shaking breath before he realized, to his embarrassed horror, that he was crying. And like a dam broken in a river, once he realized he was crying, it got worse. To his surprised, he found himself wrapped in a pair of strong arms who held him through his tears, only to make him cry harder. For years he wanted Geralt to hold him like this, but now that he had it, it was all wrong. The height difference was wrong, the armor was all wrong, the weight of the hug was all wrong. 

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. 

It was wrong because it was the wrong person. In trying to keep himself safe, he had gone and fallen in love with the very man he had pushed away. “I fucked up,” he choked into Geralt’s shoulder. 

Geralt just hummed and started running his hand over Jaskier’s shoulders and mumbling soothing nothings into his ear.  _ Ciri has been good for him, _ he thought with a small, hysterical laugh. “What’s so funny, Jaskier?”

Jaskier thought about telling him any of the things on his mind, but his limbs felt heavy like they often would after an emotional moment. He was exhausted and his body wanted to finally tell him. Instead, he turned his head and rested his forehead against the hardened leather of Geralt’s armor and closed his eyes against the waves of feelings. “Were I to try and fix this, would you know how I would go about it?”

He felt Geralt nod and shift. “I do, actually. But first, you need to sleep. Your colleague who told me where I could find you was very concerned about your sleeping habits.” 

“Who sold me out?” he asked around a yawn. “Bet it was Merten, old fuck needs to mind his own business.”

“No, a pretty blond girl. She may actually be a student, I’m not sure,” Geralt replied as he directed Jaskier over to his bed. “Now, sleep. We’ll talk more in the morning.”

\----

They did talk more in the morning. Not just about Eskel but about their own relationship and like real people, they talked through their feelings. Jaskier felt proud of them. It was painful, like cutting out dead tissue to clear out an infection, but totally necessary. He felt lighter than he had in over a year and it was worth the momentary pain associated with the awkward and painful conversation. 

It wasn’t totally fixed, but it was a start. 

Better yet, he had a plan to do the same with Eskel. He hadn’t planned much with Geralt but he knew that Geralt planned to meet up with Eskel in Novigrad for Beltane. They would be there in case the large gathering of people making offerings would bring the fae in from their forest homes. It wouldn’t leave Jaskier much time to prepare but he didn’t have much choice. He knew if he didn’t fix it now, there was no going back, no matter what Geralt said.

_ “After my extra Trials, I avoided him. I wasn’t myself. I didn’t look like me, I didn’t feel like me. I couldn’t trust myself not to hurt him,” Geralt had told him over a late breakfast in Jaskier’s quarters. _

_ “Mmm sounds familiar. How long did you keep it up?” He couldn’t help but ask, he was curious. Maybe to see if he could fix it before Eskel’s patience for pain and heartache wore out. _

_ Geralt’s shoulders tightened up and he poked at the fresh bread on his plate as if he suddenly wasn’t hungry. “Years.”  _

Well, there was no way Jaskier could go years without trying to fix what he had broken. While he spoke to the dean and requested the holiday off to make the trip to Novigrad (a request quickly given - he must look worse than he assumed) he wrote furiously. The melody was already in his head, the words following just as quickly like his subconscious knew exactly what to say and was just waiting for the rest of him to catch up. 

He packed quickly, his hands taking over while his mind was miles away, trying to picture the exact shade of amber, the exact angle of a crooked smile, the exact way he had felt wrapped up in big warm arms. Jaskier considered himself lucky that he could multitask so well, and that adventuring across the Continent was second nature to him or he knew he’d pack nothing important and end up with too many doublets and not enough food. 

With his salary, he was easily able to purchase a horse. What he’d do with it after Beltane he didn’t know, but he couldn’t be bothered to worry about that when there were much more pressing issues. Regardless, he named her Pegasus and promised to take care of her as long as she was in his care. 

It was a journey that would have taken him a week to make on foot; but with the added benefit of traveling light and alone, he was able to make good time. They rode hard, making it to the outside of the city with only hours to spare. In the distance he could see the bonfires already being lit. Farmers were already leading their cattle through smaller ones on his way to the festivities. He paid a stable boy a handful of crowns to put Pegasus up for the night before he ran out of town as fast as he could with only his purse and his lute. If anyone stole his pack, it was all replaceable and he wasn’t worried about it. Instead he was mentally going over his newest composition as he hurried past the Seven Cats Inn and to the open field where a large portion of the population of Novigrad and the surrounding small towns were gathering to celebrate the midway point between the solstice and the equinox. 

He could feel something heavy in the air. Maybe it was the festival, or his questionable heritage (and therefore questionable relationship with normal aging), or whatever Geralt and Eskel were keeping an eye out for in the forest, but the air was alight with the same sweet metallic smell that surrounded Eskel - the smell of natural magic.

_ Jaskier felt his eyes try to pop out of his skull as he watched Eskel’s frankly incredible control. “They don’t know why I’m so much better at signs than everyone else. But I think it’s got something to do with my mum. She said she was sure I was conceived on Samhain and I was born early, on Litha.”  _

_ “So you’re the Sun Wolf,” Jaskier breathed out as he watched fire dance from fingertip to fingertip with hardly a thought. Eskel’s entire focus seemed to be directed across their campfire to him.  _

_ “Well, yes,” Jaskier said with a shrug, watching the fires reflecting in Eskel’s eyes, making them shine green in the firelight like a cat. “If Geralt can be the White Wolf, only because calling him Moon Wolf makes him sound simpler than he is, then you can be the Sun Wolf.” It could have been a trick of the light, but Jaskier swore for just a moment that he could see the hint of a flush creeping up Eskel’s neck.  _

_ “I can live with that,” Eskel mumbled after a long pause before he hid his face with his hair and turned his focus to the ball of fire he was weaving between his hands.  _

Jaskier shook himself free of the sudden memory and felt his cheeks warm. Looking back, he remembered not being entirely forthcoming with just how he had come up with Sun Wolf - yes, his birth had some reason for it, but it was something he had been calling Eskel in the safety of his head for a while by that point, if only because he was a literal ball of sunshine masquerading as a wall of solid muscle. 

He kept his eyes trained to the outside of the festivities even as he made his way to where several men were constructing a makeshift stage. He could see his first obstacle to overcome - Valdo Marx. “Fucking brilliant, of course he’s in charge.” 

With one eye still on the lookout for either of the witchers (although, in order for all of this to be a surprise, he was more on the lookout for Geralt) he marched up to his rival, ready to fight tooth and nail like the feral fuck he was. 

“Master Dandelion,” Valdo greeted, using his moniker rather than his given name like he was normally wont to do when they met. Immediately, Jaskier was on edge.

“Marx, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I need a favor.”

A villainous smile curled around Marx’s lips and his eyes alighted with some kind of wicked glee. Jaskier almost regretted his idea, but music and singing were his real gifts and he was going to use his strongest weapon to convey just how fucking sorry he was. It was his best and probably only chance. 

Before Marx could open his mouth, Jaskier saw the color drain from his face almost as soon as he felt the heavy weight of a hand rest on his shoulder. “Is this man giving you any problems, Jaskier?” 

“Ah, Geralt! Perfect timing, my friend.” He mentally cringed at using the term friend, a habit he was trying to kick, but he knew it was true - sure of it now. “I was just getting around to telling my associate here, Mr. Valdo Marx, that I would be indebted to him if I were to have a few minutes on the stage sometime during the festivities.” 

“That sounds like a completely reasonable request to me,” Geralt said, his voice curling around a rumbling growl as he moved into the firelight just a little more to let the hilts of his two swords become more visible - using his witcher status to help Jaskier when he needed. If he hadn’t cried every tear his body was able to produce, he figured he would tear up again. It was a grand gesture if he’d ever seen one. 

“A-absolutely, M-master Witcher. Dandelion would make a wonderful addition to our line. Especially being a master poet and singer.” The vindictive, feral part of Jaskier’s brain relished in his rival metaphorically rolling on his back to show his belly to a stronger opponent; the soft, romantic in him wanted to run to grab his journal to start composing about a friendship between a lark and a wolf. 

“What time can we expect to hear Dandelion sing?” Geralt asked mildly, still allowing the low rumbling growl to accent his otherwise softly spoke words.

Marx fumbled with the papers in his hands before he looked up at Jaskier, careful to not look at Geralt. “We can put you on right around midnight if that’s amiable.” 

“Perfect,” Jaskier said with a nod before he turned away and began walking around, looking for some kind of gift to go along with his ballad. “You are an absolute wonder, Geralt. Thank you. That could have been a lot more painful.” 

Geralt hummed and followed a step behind Jaskier, muttering to himself about the wares being sold at stalls as Jaskier browsed. “So that’s Valdo Marx. Isn’t that the man you wished would get the pox and die when you thought you were the djinn’s master?”

“The same one,” Jaskier confirmed. “Where’s Eskel?” 

“Around,” Geralt replied with a shrug. “We split up, gonna meet up behind the Seven Cats when it’s fully dark so I’ve got some time. Did you need help?” 

Jaskier flushed and flapped his hands in anxiety. “Probably? I’m usually very suave but I literally have no idea what I’m doing. I want to get him something meaningful, but useful too. Something that won’t get in the way or take up too much room so he can’t carry it around.” 

Geralt snorted out an inelegant laugh. “You are overthinking this. Eskel isn’t that complicated. I promise anything you get him he’ll appreciate.” 

Jaskier grumbled and muttered “you’re absolutely no help. This is serious, Geralt.”

With a low chuckle, Geralt begged off with the promise to get Eskel close to the stage around midnight for whatever Jaskier had planned, and left him to fret over a gift. 

The first thing he did was find two matching flower crowns made of hawthorn twisted close together. It wasn’t typical to the traditional celebration, normally the May Flowers was used slightly differently, but for a festival of this size, Jaskier could see why something small would be beneficial. He gladly paid a few crowns for each and rested one on his own head, and let the other fall over the neck of his lute to be kept safe until he could find Eskel. It was silly, and he knew Eskel couldn’t have much use for it, but he wanted to celebrate with him - if the witcher would allow it, that was. 

On and on he walked until he stopped so quickly he almost tripped over his own feet. At a stall clearly run by a blacksmith, was a number of braided leather bands with charms twisted into the braid. What caught his eye was one clearly designed with the Wheel of the Year as a sun with rays in place for all the major holidays. What really made him stop was the other charms, two of which caught his eye. “Excuse me, my good man. Is there any way to add additional trinkets to a band? I’ll gladly pay extra for any additional work you’d need to do.” 

The blacksmith nodded with a small wave to the table. Jaskier picked out the band with the Sun Wheel and the two other charms. One was a bird in flight and the other a wolf with its head thrown back in a howl. The charms were small and wouldn’t get in the way or get caught while Eskel was fighting, and the rich brown leather matched the leather bands on his studded gambeson. It was something small that wouldn’t weigh him down and had a lot of significance. 

Every crown was worth it if it got his Sun Wolf to smile Jaskier’s favorite lopsided smile. 

With his purchase safely kept around his own wrist and his heart in his throat, Jaskier made his way back to the stage area to listen to the other performers. He couldn’t really participate in the festivities as his own hearth if it were lit, would be doused and re-lit by some staff member at the University, he had no cattle of his own, and even if he hadn’t ruined things so spectacularly, he really didn’t have to worry about the fertility aspect of the celebration. He did, however, buy a small loaf of bread to leave at the edge of the woods. Maybe he was pushing his luck, but he also wasn’t going to mess with the fae if they appeared tonight. 

He lost himself in the music, the laughter, and the magic in the air - before he knew it, he heard Valdo Marx call for him to come up on stage. 

Jaskier felt himself get up, put his second flower crown on too (hoping it wouldn’t be too obvious he was wearing two), and moving as if someone else were controlling his movements until he was standing in the middle of the stage overlooking most of the festivities. He was used to crowds, used to all eyes being on him, but he was looking for one unique set of eyes - cats eyes cast in amber, soft and calm amidst the storm around him. 

“Thank you all for allowing me to join in on the festivities and performing for you despite my late request. I -” he paused, taking a breath and shaking loose the tension to allow the magic of the night to settle in his bones. “I figured tonight was the best night to reveal my newest song. With the fires of Beltane mimicking the sun and its lifegiving nature, this would be the perfect time to let the free city of Novigrad and it’s surrounding towns know about another source of sunshine. I made my career singing about the White Wolf, teaching the Continent that there is nothing to fear from witchers, but I only sang of one. Tonight I need to amend that error with a tale from another Wolf who is the embodiment of sunshine and all it does for the world. For my Sun Wolf, I wrote you a ballad as a thank you, and more importantly, an apology. So, Novigrad, bear with me as I debut to you, but more importantly to you, Eskel,  _ The Fires of the Sun Wolf _ .” 

Jaskier sang his heart out. He knew that this was his most important performance. Where  _ Toss A Coin  _ was important to start changing the way the Continent viewed witchers, this one was the first piece he had written to perform for the masses for Eskel. Something he hoped he would have the chance to change - but to do that, he had to pray to any of the gods listening from any pantheon he could think of, that Eskel wouldn’t immediately turn away and leave upon hearing his voice. 

It was obviously a love song more than it was a ballad, but it was going to be epic. If he could parse anything from the growing crowd, it was their absolute attention. Part of Jaskier felt bad for not giving them his total attention in return, but he had just caught sight of two imposing figures standing just inside the ring of firelight, covered in twigs and leaves like they had been fighting trees (he’d get the story from one of them later). 

By the time he finished his song, he was nearly vibrating with nerves and elation. The growing crowd in front of the stage had taken nearly a minute to absorb the weight of the song before rumbling applause broke out and thundered around the circle of bonfires. Jaskier took a bow before waving goodbye to the crowd and hurrying toward where he had spotted his witchers. 

Before he got there, he was stopped by a hand clamping around his bicep. “Damnit, Geralt, I almost lost my flower crowns,” Jaskier whined, already knowing how had stopped him. 

“Apologies. Now, be gentle with him. He smells like anxiety and pain, and I want it to stop. Do I make myself clear, Jaskier? You are my dear friend, but he is my brother and I won’t hesitate to throw you in a fire if you fuck this up. Understood?”

“Clearer than crystal, my friend,” Jaskier said, his own nerves only a blip in the background as he found his Sun Wolf, standing with his arms curled around his broad chest, just a few steps outside of the forest. 

“Good,” Geralt said, letting go of Jaskier’s arm, but he wasn’t paying attention. His total focus was on his witcher who looked like he was trying to figure out how to turn invisible or melt back into the trees. 

Jaskier walked slowly up to Eskel who was watching the fire, and avoiding looking at Jaskier like it was his job. Regardless of where his eyes were trained, Eskel spoke. “I guess congratulations are in order. Sounds like you’ve got another hit on your hands.”

He didn’t know how to answer. It didn’t seem like Eskel was really speaking about the song. Or maybe he was and he didn’t want to talk about anything else. He floundered and remained silent rather than fill the silence with something that could make everything worse. 

“Do you think it would hurt? Or would it be warm?” Eskel asked, changing the subject abruptly. “I’ve been so cold for so long now that once I got a taste of it, I just want to feel it again.” 

Jaskier heard himself make a wounded noise, not unlike a wild animal trapped in a snare. 

Eskel finally looked at him and Jaskier almost wished he hadn’t. Whoever it was that said witchers didn’t have emotions had obviously never met one. Eskel’s face was a mirror to his feelings for anyone who cared to look. “It would probably be agony, but I bet I could take it. It would fix me though, right?” 

Jaskier closed the distance between them and blocked Eskel’s direct path to the bonfire. If he was determined, Jaskier knew there was nothing he could  _ really _ do to stop him, but he would stand between a witcher and danger - especially  _ his  _ witcher. “ _ Eskel _ ,” he breathed out, taking a cautious step closer to Eskel. “Please,” he begged, his voice cracking over the plea. “Eskel, there’s nothing to fix.” 

He could feel the tears threatening to spill as he took the final step separating them and put his against Eskel’s right cheek where the scars from his Child Surprise cut across his face in a brutal reminder he couldn’t escape. “There’s nothing to fix, my love, I promise. I - I was wrong. 

“I was trying so hard to protect myself that I let go of the literal embodiment of everything good in the world, everything that I want and need in a partner. I was scared of my own feelings. So scared I refused to acknowledge them.”

Eskel remained silent, his sorrowful gaze returning to the fire, and Jaskier knew he had lost, knew that Geralt was wrong - that it was too late, they didn’t have enough time and history to save them from what Jaskier had so thoroughly destroyed in his fear.

“Even if you can’t forgive me, and I don’t blame you. Please, please don’t leave Geralt. Don’t do whatever it is that you’re thinking, my dear Sun Wolf.”

Eskel’s eyes snapped back to him as he took a deep breath, scenting the air like a predator. “You’re not lying. But you weren’t lying then either.”

Jaskier choked on a gasp. “Only because I believed my own delusion, dear heart.” 

Eskel made the same wounded noise in the back of his throat like he had their last morning together, the memory driving a knife between Jaskier’s ribs. “I jus’ wanted to mean  _ something.  _ I was okay, at first, with it jus’ bein’ about sex. Figured it was all I could get; more than I usually got. But then I - then I-” 

“Started to feel something?” Jaskier prompted when it was obvious Eskel was lost somewhere in his memories.

“Y-yeah, started to feel warm again. Like, I got to sit close to a fire and enjoy that warmth - like I could just feel normal for once and not like a f-freak.” 

Jaskier could see how tightly Eskel was holding himself like he was on the edge of flying apart. Eskel, who only wanted someone to look beyond his scars - something Jaskier didn’t even notice after the first glance, they were scars and he was used to them - look beyond the scars and see the man who wanted to mean something to someone, even if it was just sex. “You’re not a freak, dear heart. You’re not a freak and you didn’t deserve what I did to you. But, if you can look into that big heart of yours and maybe forgive me, I want you to know that I am so sorry,” he said before he lost his battle with tears. 

At that moment he realized that he had been fighting against himself and his own fears and in doing so, he had done to Eskel what Geralt had done to him only worse. Geralt hadn’t minced words when he tore into Jaskier, but Jaskier used Eskel’s fears and insecurities against him. 

Jaskier gave it one more try, speaking through the tears he felt he had no real right to shed. “ _ I  _ want you if that means anything after I ruined what we had and burned down anything more we  _ could’ve  _ had. But, Eskel, you have to know that there is nothing more in this world that I regret more than I regret what I said to you back in Ard Carraigh.”

“You were a real prick,” Eskel said to Jaskier’s back after he had turned to give Eskel space. “A real fuckin’ prick. And this doesn’t magically fix everything. But -” Jaskier felt his heart stop in his chest. “But I’m pretty sure it’s an innate talent that spending a large part of your life around Geralt - well, that probably made it worse.”

Jaskier whipped back around and fumbled with his extra flower crown that maybe, maybe hadn’t been a waste. 

“But if you ever pull that shit again, I’m going to throw you off the side of a cliff.” Eskel dropped his arms and tilted his head to the side to give Jaskier the full effect of his puppy eyes. 

“Deal,” Jaskier said, his voice rushed and hoarse, but he couldn’t bring himself to care when Eskel flashed a small self-conscious smile towards Jaskier. “I know this doesn’t fix everything right away, but I got your something. It’s silly and nothing you’d probably get for yourself, but I-” Jaskier stopped himself and quickly placed the hawthorn crown on Eskel’s head (taking only a moment to admire the contrast of the white petals with Eskel’s obsidian hair), and slipping the leather bracelet off his wrist and putting it on Eskel’s wrist instead - his nondominant hand just in case. “It’s silly and you don’t have to wear it, but it just - it reminded me of you and you deserve nice things.” 

He would have kept talking, rambling every thought until he passed out from lack of air if it wasn’t for a finger pressing gently against his lips. “Shh, Lark, I’m never taking it off,” Eskel said before he twisted his wrist to catch Jaskier’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, and suing the gentle hold to pull him into an even more gentle and tender kiss.

He felt one more tear slide down his cheek from the sheer relief of getting to taste the absolute magic of Eskel’s lips again, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. “One thing, my dear Sun Wolf: what did you think of my new song? Three words or less.”

Eskel’s reply was instant and everything Jaskier never knew he needed to hear: “I love you.” 


End file.
